Interlude
by A. Murray
Summary: In which Skittery attempts to share a sunrise. SkitteryJockey


_Disclaimer: _I don't own Skittery. He belongs to Disney... and Michael Goorjian because there just is no other worthy to don the pink underwear. And I don't own Jockey. She belongs to... Jockey. I do own… well nothing because I don't think that you can actually own words. Unless of course you create one, which I'm not really sure you can. So… I guess… yeah, I own nothing.

_Dedications: _This story was done only and entirely for Jockey because she's a pain and I promised. :) So Jock, here ya go. It's not much and I know it's taken forever and a day… plus a few milliseconds… but I hope you enjoy anyway. Thank you for being the wonderful friend you are.

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**-- Interlude --  
**

She's fallen asleep again. Her head rests on my chest, deep chestnut locks splay in all directions. Her fingers, immobile in her state of sleep, are still folded into mine. Between our hands the air is hot and my palm itches. But I won't wake her. Not for the richest sunrise in the world.

It's not a tradition, this campout on the roof of our apartment building. It's just a today thing. Or rather, it was supposed to be. Before she fell asleep.

Jockey doesn't like traditions. She says when things become routine people have a tendency to trip and get tangled and in the end, they hang themselves on their own good intentions, killing the purpose of the tradition and why it was begun in the first place.

Or something like that.

Yeah. She blows my mind sometimes. She's got a way with words. Much more so than myself. I think it's her smile. She just flashes that smile at them and they roll over or jump through flaming hoops. Blindfolded and backwards.

Well, they would if, you know, words were like treat-junkied puppies.

But back to the sun...

It has already pooled into the sky and everything's beginning to brighten. It's a fresh sight. Like fabric softener to the eyes. In all my manliness I will allow that it's simply beautiful.

And she's snoring.

It's all I can do not to laugh. But I do smile. She has that effect.

My mind goes back to the first time that I met her. Well, really met her that is.

She was coming out of the school library. And I was hurrying in.

She was nose deep in a thick blue-bound book. I was just clumsy.

It was a sunny afternoon in April. Green was creeping through the once snow-covered ground. Blossoms were opening in the canopies of Central Park. And I'm pretty sure, to complete this serene setting, mama and papa birds were chirping happily somewhere.

But in the confines of a cement lined hallway we were sprawled on the ugly white marble floor, books and packs and limbs scattered in every direction. And if there was chirping it was only the sound of our fellow students, laughing at our calamity.

Hastily, as one does in such a situation, I grabbed and she grabbed and we mumbled incoherent apologizes until we were once again in standing. That's when we noticed each other.

"Jorja." I said, perhaps for the simple reason that it was something to say. "I have geometry with you."

She nodded.

"Yes. And you're Jeremy Lawrence." She said with a distracted confidence, adjusting her blouse and checking her plaid skirt. "You ate my Playdoh in kindergarten."

And I said…

Well, what do you say to something like that?

I think it was that moment that I loved her. Though it would take me many more months and several failed attempts to act on such.

The sun is full in the sky now. Bright and welcoming.

She begins to stir. Slowly she wakes to the world and me.

"Morning." I whisper, kissing the back of her hand.

She nuzzles against me, her sleep softening the weight of my greeting.

"Morning." She mumbles.

And then…

"Morning?!" Her eyes shoot open and she bolts upright, staring at the sky and her missed sunrise. "Oh Skitts! I'm so sorry!"

"Don't sweat it, sugar. The sun comes up every day you know. We'll have more opportunities."

"Bah. This was what you wanted to do. Today." She turns to me, all self-disgusted and pouting. "Did I ruin it completely?"

I pull her towards me and entwine my fingers with hers. "You know that's impossible." I assure her, brushing across her lips with the lightest of kisses.

She sighs and rests her head next to mine.

The morning is wasting away; already warmth is falling on us. We don't have much time left before the day begins with the cackle of alarm clocks and humdrum work schedules. Our parents will begin to wonder.

But it's times like these when everything else fades away and there is no world but our own. No space on earth but that which we hold between us. It's hard to leave something like that.

I take a breath and she knows.

"Yeah. I've got work." She grumbles, hugging me tight.

"Same here." I agree, letting her hold me, wanting her never to let go.

But she has to and eventually she does.

We trade quick kisses and small words as we gather the blankets and empty mugs and forlorn snack cake wrappers and her discarded Cookie Monster slippers. Then we slip down the stairs.

The hall is quiet. Her apartment is three doors and a full hall up from mine. She fumbles for the keys, opens her door and disappears inside with her armload before returning for a goodbye.

One be-Monstered foot propped between the door and jam she grins that grin that I love so much.

"I'm sorry I missed your sunrise."

"Stop worrying." I playfully chide, planting a kiss to her forehead. "Next time," I promise. "Don't work too hard m'kay?"

She produces a sleepy groan. "Ughhh. You neither."

I shift my belongings and start off down the hall.

"Hey. Skittery!" Her whisper chases after me.

"What?"

"Thank you. It was perfect."

I nod and smile to myself, thinking of how she'll never really understand just how perfect it was.

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_Author's Notes:_ I started this out with the intention of brimming it with angst and sadness but something happened and well, that just didn't happen. So instead, you, the reader, get a fluffy story filled with ubber fluff of the exclusive fluffy nature. So yeah, it's just fluff. Plotless fluff. I don't know why but at 3 am the word fluff is just so darn fun to type. Fluff. Ha. Ok, I'm over it. You can review if you want, because you know I'd love it, but do what you will and don't be distracted by the fresh cookies… 


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